


The Pit

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Punishment, Violence, bad and naughty assholes get thrown in the A s s h o l e P i t to atone for their crimes, i cant fucking believe i didnt post this before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24201523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: There is no relief, no pause, no death.Only digging.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Concept](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494979) by [Control_Room](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room). 
  * Inspired by [Black, Silver and Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23449303) by [aintnoonefancy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintnoonefancy/pseuds/aintnoonefancy). 



**SAY GOODBYE TO THIS WORLD,[JOEY DREW](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F17494979%2Fchapters%2F42177608%23workskin&t=N2NjZjc5NTY4MDVmMzY4ZmZkNDU2OGJiN2RjZjEyYjg4N2NlY2NiNixjY2NiOGE1ZmNhOGIyY2UxYmVjZGJmZjczYjZlODVlNzI4MjI1MWU2)**

**WELCOME YOURSELF TO SILVESTRO KARPOS AGNES**

**AND TO THE EVER TALLER WALLS OF THE PRISON YOU WILL INHABIT FOREVER**

They didn’t speak to each other.

They just dug.

Sometimes, they would look at each other.

Silvestro thought he was almost as handsome as him.

He looked like a man. Like someone who should have stayed on top of others, giving them orders, controlling their lives, _taking_ their lives, making them husks of their former selves, manipulating them, changing them, driving them to their limits and watching them crumble.

Someone he could deal with.

Joey thought he didn’t look as malleable as the others.

He looked like he knew what his place was. Like someone would have done anything to reach his goals, to keep his position, to be as powerful as possible, to not let anyone put their feet on top of him, but wasn’t stupid enough to refuse an opportunity when it was presented to him.

Someone he could work with.

They would have enjoyed each other.

Still hating themselves with a bitter vengeance - no one was better than _himself_ , they both thought, after all - but with a sick pleasure following the notice of the other’s presence.

They could have worked together.

They could have done great things together.

Outside.

Joey raised his head.

Silvestro raised his head.

The light burned their eyes.

It was always there.

Still.

Inevitably.

Over them.

Never moving.

Warming the air.

It was so damn hot.

So damn suffocating.

They only had spades.

And all they did was dig.

Deeper into nothingness.

“Let’s stop.”

Joey was tired.

“Yes, let’s.”

Silvestro was tired.

They threw their spades at the walls and sat down.

There was no shelter from the light.

They wiped their foreheads and breathed heavily.

They were always so close to fainting.

They never fainted.

So tired.

They would have laid down on the ground if it wasn’t such a pathetic thing to do.

So they sat, and wiped their brows, and fanned themselves with their hands.

Then shadow came.

And with it, the cold.

It was so cold.

So very cold.

Their sweat froze on their skin.

They looked up.

It was so dark.

So cold.

A glimmer.

Two.

Like spectacles being hit by fractions of light.

It was so cold.

Their teeth clattered.

Moving.

Moving would bring warmth.

They stood up suddenly, making their heads turn in a nauseating way. Their feet stomped blindly in the pitch black dark. Was it bigger? Was the hole suddenly larger? They couldn’t find themselves, nor their spades, nor the walls.

Everything was gone.

Something made a soft sound. Like grass growing, very fast.

Where in the hell were their spades?

It kept growing.

They fell to their knees - the ground felt far away, too far away, as if they’d fallen from a great height - and feverishly searched for their tools, hitting themselves as the cold only grew stronger and stronger while voraciously biting them in an attempt to reach the marrow in their bones.

It kept growing.

Silvestro made a noise of relief when he felt the unforgiving chill of metal hit his fingers. He grabbed the spade as if it had been his lifeline and held it close, feeling the other’s eyes looking for him angrily. Too bad, it was his now. He tried to stumble on his feet.

It kept growing.

Out of all the things to bring him even the smallest ammount of happyness, Joey would have never thought the wooden handle of a labour tool would fit the bill. He gripped it with all his might, not even standing up, digging from his knees, desperate for some warmth.

It kept growing.

And as the two dug like their life depended on it they felt something with the same concintency of hair tickle down their necks and wrap around them gently, like a noose tightening so terribly slowly-

The light came back.

A wave of heat struck them like a sudden rageful punch, and they thought it would have killed them.

It didn’t.

They breathed heavily.

Joey felt sweat drip from every inch of his skin.

Let me go, he thought.

Silvestro had no tears to cry in anger.

Let me go, he thought.

This is torture, they thought.

You can’t do this to us.

You can’t do this.

You can’t.

The lens of a pair of spectacles burned their back with the boiling light.

Merciless.

They didn’t speak.

Merciless.

They started digging again.

Merciless.

No pile of dirt formed behind them.

Merciless.

There was no sign of their painful work.

Merciless.

Only walls of a hole getting taller and taller.

Merciless.

Trapping them forever in the depths of the Earth.

Merciless.

Without any chance of escape, of forgiveness, of relief.

Merciless.

The God of Light upon their heads was just as merciless as they had been.


	2. Chapter 2

Dragged.

He was being dragged.

Harshly, on harsh ground, by his legs so that he couldn’t run.

He opened his eyes, and became blind.

For a second.

The light.

Dear God, the light.

So bright.

So horribly bright.

He was yanked.

His hands tried grasping at the ground, at his surroundings, something to keep himself still, to hold onto.

It all slipped through his fingers.

His lips opened like the ancient misshapen walls of a canyon and his voice croaked out loudly, painfully, fearfully.

“Help!”

Help!

Before the second shout could ever make it out of him, he felt his body raise in a weightless stasis. His legs bent free, his back arched in the air, his arm floated as if he was swimming deeper into an ocean of some kind of inconsistent liquid.

His jaw hit the rest of his skull so hard he almost bit off his tongue and shattered all of his teeth as it collided with the earth.

There was a snarl - a truly wrathful, beastly, infuriated noise behind him, and the same merciless grip that had clutched his legs fell on his neck so fast and with such strength he thought it would have broken.

It didn’t break.

It never broke, he would learn.

Another sound came, infinitely closer, so much he could feel a vapor, a gas (it couldn’t be breath, nothing could breathe that way), and it was cold yet scorching to the point where he could feel his skin burn and shrivel and fall apart to reveal naked flesh so painfully, so agonizingly, so insanely, mind-breakingly torturing, gut-wrenching, excruciating, like he could have never even hoped to ever imagine before, and he wanted to scream, to yell, to get it all out and away from himself.

Something - not fingers, not hands, not claws - curled around his limbs, hips, chest, without any hint of tenderness; on the contrary, it pulled and pushed as if to break him in half and rip him to shreds like a naughty child angered at their dolls, wanting to take them apart piece by piece, aching to see their entrails hang low from the dismembered, disembowled remains of their sacrificial victim to proceed with their wild senseless bacchanal, never once allowing a single breath of air to escape or enter him.

He felt a sharp pain as he scraped the ground with his entire being and he was thrust closer to it, his bruises aching in the heat, the sweat mixing with blood, huffs of oxygen peroxyde biting deep into his flesh with a growl.

He gasped, or tried to - his neck hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt, and there was no air in his lungs, no air, no air, no air, no air, he would soffucate, he’d choke, he’d choke-

**SAY GOODBYE TO THIS WORLD, HENRY STEIN**

**WELCOME YOURSELF TO JOEY DREW AND SILVESTRO KARPOS AGNES**

**AND TO THE EVER TALLER WALLS OF THE PRISON YOU WILL INHABIT FOREVER**

He fell.

And as he fell, he saw eyes.

Spectacled, scorching, wrathful eyes.

His back hit the ground after two seconds. He didn’t move.

Through his hazy vision he detected two men, or men they must have once been; in the miserable shells they probably called their bodies he percieved something, the remnants of behaviours and personalities, a prideful, arrogant, selfishly manipulative countenance that had gone lost in hard useless labour and endless cloudless days. He saw it in their sunken eyes (blue on cinnamon, chocolate on white), that lust for power and control, that conviction of self-perfection, that entitlement to righteousness and worth that allowed them to use, abuse, push to the limit all those who dared cross their path.

In those pitiful punished frames he recognized himself.

Something fell.

With a loud, loud noise.

It sank into the earth like a knife in butter.

And all he could face, curled on the ground, was a steely grey.

He looked, and stopped feeling the sweat and dust.

He looked, and stopped hearing his own breath.

He looked, and there was nothing.

Nothing left of him.

He was dead.

A kick sent his head against the metal of the spade.

“You won’t die.”

Another kick incited his legs to move and get up.

“We never die.”

Both voices sounded mournful.

It was not a blessing.

He would learn.

Soon.

Bloodied, bruised, covered in sweat mixed with dust, Henry forced himself on his two own feet, heavily leaning on the spade.

Silvestro dug without looking at him.

Joey dug without looking at him.

The heat was scorching.

And weakly.

So very weakly.

Henry began digging.

Above him, the God of Light stared with their six spectacled eyes burning on the men’s backs, harsh, merciless, wrathful.


End file.
